The Wrong Bride
by Queen Bookworm the First
Summary: QLFC Round 10


**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 10**

Team: Wimbourne Wasps

Position: Beater 2

Prompt: Kill Them or Save Them — Kill Pansy Parkinson

Optional Prompts:

2\. (word) reflection

14\. (quote) "Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything." C.S. Lewis

* * *

"_Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything." - C.S. Lewis_

Astoria stepped into the dress, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her jaw. Her maid helped her pull it up, her fingers warm and certain as they brushed across Astoria's back.

The silk swept up her legs in a cool embrace. She held back a shiver and kept her eyes closed, listening to the jostling of beads.

"All done," the maid said cheerfully, her fingers leaving Astoria's back. All that was left was cold silk hugging the wrong girl.

Astoria drew in a shuddering breath, her fingers clenching and loosening, leaving white crescents on her palm. She could feel a lump in her throat begin to materialize again. _All right, _she told herself, heart pounding against her chest, _one, two, three…_

She opened her eyes.

"You look like an angel, miss," the maid whispered as Astoria looked into the mirror.

The reflection that stared back was the wrong angel.

A pale, stoic face, with high, sculpted cheekbones.

(It should have been an olive-skinned face with soft, slightly round cheeks.)

Small, pale pink lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

(It should have been full, rosy lips inching up into a smile, despite the years of hiding emotions trained into them.)

Heavily lidded dark, coffee-colored eyes covered with a sheen of wetness.

(It should have been wide eyes the color of a forest during a misty morning, wet with tears of joy.)

An ivory gown, skimming over the curve of her hips, with a bodice covered in beaded flowers and lace that gave way to a flowing skirt.

It looked beautiful; it looked like the dream of any girl.

But it was not _her _dream, Astoria realized with a sudden pang.

It was the dream of Pansy Parkinson.

Perhaps that was why the dress didn't fit perfectly, despite the use of numerous charms. Perhaps it somehow knew that it wasn't made for Astoria, but for another girl. Perhaps it knew that it wasn't made for duty, but for love.

It was Pansy Parkinson who should have stood here, staring at her reflection with all the awe of a happy bride.

It was Pansy Parkinson who should have been getting ready to marry Draco Malfoy.

But Pansy Parkinson wasn't standing there and Pansy Parkinson wasn't marrying Draco Malfoy, because Pansy Parkinson was _dead_.

The dress that Pansy Parkinson wore was black velvet, the one she had been buried in. Her face was probably rotting, too much gone to muster a smile. Her eyes were closed forever. Her life had been sucked out of her the moment a stray _Avada Kedavra _struck her chest, the moment she'd fallen to the ground, her face a picture of mild surprise.

All Astoria could think as she stared at her reflection was that she was the _wrong girl_, despite all of the Malfoys' assurances that she was perfect.

After the war, the Malfoys were quick to search for someone to fill the empty wedding gown hanging in Pansy's closet. Their reputation had burned down to the ground, and they needed a phoenix to help them rise from the ashes.

Astoria, a Ravenclaw, and most importantly, a Greengrass, would be the perfect phoenix.

The Greengrasses had chosen to plant their flag on neither side of the battefield, and so their hands had remained free of the blood that stained both those light and dark. It was these hands that the Malfoys had needed.

And so, a few months after Pansy's body had descended into the ground, contracts were signed and rings were exchanged. Just like that, Astoria Greengrass was betrothed to marry Draco Malfoy, as if Pansy had never existed at all.

Just like that, Astoria had become the girl standing before the mirror.

But Pansy still existed—that Astoria knew with certainty. She still haunted the depths of Draco's mind through memories of stolen kisses and whispered words.

It was Pansy's gown that Astoria wore. It was the flowers that Pansy had loved that adorned the wedding hall. It was the ring meant for Pansy that Draco would be slipping onto her finger. It was as if it would be Pansy walking down the aisle instead of Astoria. Her absence tainted everything. It felt like Pansy's fingers were around Astoria's throat, always slightly choking her.

"Stop it," Astoria whispered to herself. "Stop this nonsense." She dragged in a breath, then another, willing the lump in her throat away. She turned to the maid, schooling her face into that of the poised pureblood bride she was supposed to be. "I'm ready."

But she wasn't.

* * *

Astoria held onto her father's arm, her fingers digging into the expensive suit that he wore. The skirt of her dress glided behind her, whispering over the rose petals. Soft music filled the hall, a lilting melody that seemed almost melancholy. A thin veil, embroidered with creeping lace vines and flowers, covered her face. Astoria was glad to have it.

She was walking down the aisle to marry Draco Malfoy, just like somewhere, beyond the realm of the living, Pansy Parkinson had walked down the aisle to marry Death.

Through the gauzy white tulle of the veil, Astoria could see her betrothed standing at the end of the aisle. He held himself straight as a stick, face impassive. She could feel his gaze, heavy on her bowed head. She could feel it grazing over the wedding dress that wasn't meant for her.

Her heart thundered against her chest, and she could hear Pansy's voice, crooning from the depths of her mind.

_He doesn't love you. He loves me. _

_You weren't meant to be here. I was._

_He will hate you._

Astoria held her breath as she let go of her father's arm. She stood before Draco, the picture of a perfect, dutiful bride.

Draco reached out, his hand trembling ever so slightly, and lifted the veil.

In that moment, she could see the emotions flashing across his face. Despair, regret, and the one that crushed her the most: disappointment.

She could see that he had hoped for just a second that it had been Pansy Parkinson walking down the aisle.


End file.
